


Without Saying

by enemyofperfect



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Grief/Mourning, M/M, Past Harold Finch/Nathan Ingram - Freeform, Triple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 16:46:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17791061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enemyofperfect/pseuds/enemyofperfect
Summary: "You two were close," John said when Harold's voice failed him.





	Without Saying

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dorinda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorinda/gifts).



"You two were close," John said when Harold's voice failed him.

Harold knew it was meant as reassurance: _There's a reason for what you feel. Of course it hurts._ John wasn't prying; he wasn't even wondering. He was saying he already knew as much as he needed to.

The generosity of that simple acceptance bit Harold's conscience deeper than any bitter words could. Did John deserve so little?

"I loved Nathan," Harold said, painfully but distinctly, "for the better part of my life. I have never so much as known another person for as many years as I loved him, and even setting aside the risks of our line of work, it is unlikely that I ever will."

John was an arrested shape in the periphery of his vision, silent and unmoving.

"He was the first person I trusted after I left home. For decades, he was the only person I trusted." But that sounded like a choice of desperation. Harold admitted: "I didn't want anyone else. We were happy." He made a small gesture, cutting off an objection John would never make. "Of course later things grew complicated, but--we were happy."

Needing suddenly to be believed, he looked at John and found his face wide open with understanding and his hands held low at his sides, strangely helpless--but as soon as Harold's eyes met his, John flowed forward and put his arms around Harold, wonderfully close and sure.

Yet the very swiftness with which John provided the comfort he craved only inflamed Harold's sense of an intolerable disparity. _Why do the best people I know always ask so little of me?_

"John--" Harold clutched at him. "John, I want to make you happy."

The catch in John's breath pressed against his chest as well.

"Harold-- _you do_."


End file.
